Her crown was of flowers

Of a dream I dreamt,
Lone stood a woman,
Amid the heathery grass,
Dressed in darling blue.
Her crown was of flowers –
The rosy colours of Spring,
But it was her smile,
A smile only of the Artist,
That drew me ever closer in.
Worthless would be the words
To describe such a smile –
All and only I can utter
Is the affect such a smile
Could have.

From the depths of winter,
Summer peaked from the grass.
And the crows ceased to caw;
Sweet chirping was sung once again.
The trees danced,
Life grew,
And my soul, my very soul,
Brightened to a glow.

‘Oh Lady, oh Lady!’ I cried,
Amidst the joy, amidst the sun,
‘A gift such as that,
Cannot be granted
To a sinner like myself!
How unworthy I am,
Only to see you,
To see your sweet face
Is gift enough,
For a sinner like myself!’

Her smile remained,
But solemn, so solemn
That I shirked away.
‘Daughter,’ she said,
In heavy tones,
But yet, so lithe,
‘Daughter, do you not remember
What my son said to thee?
Salvation is God’s gift to thee,
And for life onto life,
Sin no more,
And this gift,
This precious gift
Will be yours and forever more.’